Skewed Deception
by Illusionary Ennui
Summary: Inspired by LDW's Winter Fanfiction Contest, Part I of IV: "Walls torn asunder and exiled into the shadows of SHIELD, the fallen prince scrambles for power and redemption in any form." - Loki x OFC
1. The Cost of Betrayal

**Skewed Deception**

Inspired by LDW's Winter Fanfiction Contest, Part I of IV: "Walls torn asunder and exiled into the shadows of SHIELD, the fallen prince scrambles for power and redemption in any form." Loki X OFC(Reader)

* * *

_This fan fiction may contain spoilers, canon and also non-canon endeavours and history. Its contents will be derived, apart from the author's imagination, mostly from the movie!verse (Thor and The Avengers) with a sprinkling of comic!verse and Norse lore. With respect to the rules of the contest set forth by the tumblr blog, Loki's Dirty Whispers, the pairing is set thusly to fulfill that one guideline - all whispers used, of which there are only five throughout the piece at present, will be bolded in the text and also linked in the author's notes found at the end of every chapter. Regarding the original character pairing, even knowing that that alone has cost the author some readers, said character's description will be vague and generic enough so that any reader can imagine themselves in her place._

* * *

Author: Illusionary Ennui

Disclaimer: If it's not in the Marvel universe (movies or comics) or the wiki, it's mine or actual lore.

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Blood, a little Bondage, Drama, Violence.

Beta: **Ms. Pagliacci**

Edited: 01.17.2013

* * *

**Chapter One: The Cost of Betrayal**

_Bound by more than pride_

_A solemn notion best forgot_

_Fury bleeds and seethes_

"I don't like it." Clinton Barton fingered his weapon, the metal cold against the tips of his fingers where the holster didn't cover. God, he missed his bow. His poignant glare pierced fog of his breath to fall upon their charge, hating the frigid air even more. Deep in the under-city of Stark Tower, Loki of Asgard, bound and gagged as he had been when Barton last saw him, stood in a cell designed just for him. Even from the observation room, the agent could feel the deity's angered stare as one of the guards began to pat him down for concealed weapons, the Asgardian finery a treasure trove of hiding places. "I don't like it one bit."

"I've already got Stark bitchin' in my ear for commandeering his basement. You wanna be the one to tell Daddy Deity that he needs to pick his son back up 'cause you kids won't pretend play nice with him? "

"No, sir."

Of course, he didn't. Barton couldn't help being a little intimidated when Odin accompanied Thor upon his return, arrayed in shining gold and wearing his power like a mantle of pride. What irked him now was what the king of the Norse gods left behind in Director Fury's care, one meant to serve the humans that he once tried to enslave as atonement. With nothing more than informing SHIELD's commander than that he had left his sons in his care, he vanished just as quickly as he arrived. _Flashy bastard, I'll give him that much._

_"_Uh... Barton?"

"Yeah?"

"You might want to pay a bit more attention. Looks like he's not going down without a fight this time."

Blinking, Barton followed Fury's single line of sight to the scene through the glass before he began running. Inside, one of the guards crumpled beneath Loki's manacled wrists before another flailed against the wall next to one of his fallen fellows, kicked away in wild rage. In the next moment, a third found the prisoner's chain looped around his neck The poor marine lashed out, blood trickling past his lips, but the noose only tightened. Death loomed until Barton was at Loki's back, one of the other guardsmen's larger guns in his hands, taken in an afterthought with consideration of his foe. Clubbing his assailant in the back of head with the butt the weapon, Loki collapsed at their feet in a despondent heap, his brow furrowed even in unconsciousness.

"Barely five minutes and he's already taken out three of our guys. Are you sure about this, Fury?"

"I'm never sure."

* * *

"What do you want me to do? Bend him over my knee? Give him a time out and think maybe he'll learn his lesson? Need I remind you that there's still a city with ruins in it just upstairs thanks to him?

Thor pressed a heavy hand to the glass, the one-way mirror giving him a glimpse of his brother as he slept and the prison SHIELD had given him. This was supposed to be their new home, but Thor could see the injustice between their treatments, shaming both of them. Around the would-be ruler of Earth, the quarters offered the barest comforts allowed a captive rather than the potential ally Loki was meant to be, its great expanse otherwise bare where Thor's own chambers were filled with luxuries. Within, a lonely table surrounded by a few chairs sat in the middle of the room, a meagre meal left untouched upon its top. There was bookcase, built into the wall itself, standing empty, given in the hopes of being filled to placate his brother's restless mind. Next to it pressed a dresser filled with Midgardian finery that Thor himself had chosen to suit his brother's taste in Midgardian fashion and a desk that bore nothing more than a single tome - the Bible, if Thor recalled, a work of fiction worshiped by many. Every creature-comfort had been provided along with privacy of his own facilities, yet it was upon the small bed wedged in the corner with a suit jacket draped over its edge that blue eyes fell.

Clad now in a simple white dress shirt tucked into black slacks, Loki lay quietly in his cell, unconscious and unaware. No belt was cinched about his hips a precaution made in light of the recent ordeal. A bare foot twitched and the Asgardian prince's eyes widened in hope, but his brother failed to stir awake. Thor then eyed the bruise from Barton's blow and felt guilt needle him. Still, the guards should not have had to pay the price for his negligence. Now he knew all too well that it had been folly to slink away to bribe one of SHIELD's agents for just the chance to contact his fair Jane Foster. How could he have known Loki would have acted so brashly; after all, had he not agreed to this banishment? His brother had been his responsibility and by his own hand, his honour became tarnished.

In this, he did not only serve the human's cause.

Resolve made clearer, the fingers of his other hand curled around the artefact that held his brother's power. Why had the All-Father trusted him with such a burden? Thor wondered as Loki's hostage magic pulsed against his palm. His love for his sibling would only prove to make the task more difficult. No matter how much he cared for Loki, being the one to preserve that which had been taken from him sundered the Thunderer's heart. Torn between duty to Loki as a brother and his duty to those Loki had wronged left him unsure of the path before them. Even now he pleaded to his comrades of the Avengers and to SHIELD with the desperate hope that they too would take up the yoke of his mission.

How could they not when the All-Father himself had charged them with Loki's protection and reformation? Were not many of them - the assassins in particular - possessed of dark pasts like his brother? Shadowy records and bloodied hands wiped clean in exchange for service? Surely the kinship they shared would ensure their aid, particularly since he knew so little of their realm.

Tearing his gaze away from the glass, the warrior looked towards his companions, those gathered to discuss Loki's future among them. In mute determination, he judged their motives and reactions in hopes of understanding only to find them unwilling to meet his eyes. Fury merely scowled into his cup of coffee while Philip Coulson, recently released from his sickbed, kept to himself, his eyes glued to the tablet on his lap. Clint Barton, pressed close to Natasha Romanoff, seemed to avoid him altogether, a hint of anxious shuffling reminding him of the man's history with his brother. The Black Widow, on the other hand, radiated an eerie calm as she stared into the room beyond, her mask a perfect impasse.

"Forgive me, but my father has a reason for everything that he does," Thor said at last, his fingers again tightening on the amulet, reminding that he did them for all, not just for his own selfish whims. "It is his wish for Loki to serve his punishment here as an obeisance to those he has wronged. It is true that I do know he will not make this easy for us or himself, but I am willing to try - his allegiance far outweighs his enmity. Should that not be pursued? Perhaps someone in your company or of your acquaintance may be of some assistance, able to read beyond his fronts and lies?"

Upon hearing the Asgardian's words, Coulson shifted in his wheelchair and shot a knowing look as his superior's single eye narrowed.

"We may just have that tool." Gloved hands shoving into his trench-coat's pockets, Fury let out a heavy sigh. Something changed in the SHIELD director's stance that betrayed his veiled reluctance. Yet to Thor's pleasure, the man continued despite despite the looming sense of misgiving. "Granted, she's a bit of a recluse and useless in the field, but her history might be just what you need. Let's just hope Loki won't mind being touched for once."

Barton and Natasha Romanoff exchanged worried glances as Coulson and Fury forged ahead with an unspoken plan, each wary of something unknown to the Asgardian prince. Intrigued, Thor cocked his head and studied his companions for any hint of their thoughts only to find none. The three stood in silence, glancing from time to time at Loki and then between themselves, until Thor grew tired of the quiet and sought to wayleigh his curiosity.

"Nice enough even though she can't fight worth a damn - no coordination, but you can't sneak up on her, either. Well, us normal humans can't, anyways." Barton shrugged his shoulders as he crossed his arms, his weight leaning against the wall. "Suppose that's why we keep her around. You'll learn soon enough - sometimes I think she's a witch. Don't think even that snake of your brother could keep her out, not without his powers."

With a grand gesture of his hand, Barton pointed to the glittering amulet in Thor's hands, the prison for Loki's power, not unlike Mjölnir had been for his own. The barest touch and Barton reeled back as if burned, sticking his finger in his mouth out of habit as Romanoff snatched him away with a hiss aloud for him to keep his hands to himself.

"What the hell was that?" she asked with her deadly eyes burning in studious reform - anything that caused pain warranted a closer investigate. That was what she did as an assassin, a spy: she learned and countered in kind. Whatever she believed, to her, Thor held danger.

"Loki was born of Jötunnheimr, a land of darkness and ice. One touch of a jötunn's skin would burn anyone un-enchanted against such for within this lies his true magic, raw and untamed - perhaps this is how his magic has decided to protect itself."

Thor stared into the depths of the opalescent gem at the centre of the amulet, the silver filigree around it dull in the fluorescent lighting. It seemed to glow from within, its colours shifting - blue to green to purple, flecked with golds and whites - every shade imaginable flowing, whirling, ever moving. Such a small thing, a mere trinket, but within it roiled something greater - a deadly beauty set to , he held it between his hands as he would a fragile child.

"The Loki you see before you has been changed over the years, affected by the magicks of Asgard and its citizens, of our father. It is that which makes him into one of the æsir like myself. It also by the magic my father placed upon him as a babe so that he too might control his other form when he lets it surface - without it, he is free to master either, affected by both their strengths and their weaknesses. Even now I only can handle the amulet until I relinquish its keep, all thanks to more of the All-Father's magic upon me.

"My friends, believe me when I say that my brother is a good soul, but one broken by the past - although he and our father refuse to share all that transpired during his exile, I warrant that the scars run deeper than we can imagine. Can you not understand his plight? Yes, I would chance much pain and more for the sake of his redemption - he will always be my brother, no matter what he says. That is why we have come here seeking your help and that of this _tool_ of whom you speak. Would you not offer him the same opportunity to redeem himself and wash his hands clean as SHIELD has done for you?"

Again, the assassins shared another wary look, their true thoughts masked behind shrewd expressions. Though the warrior prince's impassioned words struck home, Romanoff offered Thor nothing more to satisfy his questions and Barton had only an opinion to share: "No, no I don't. But I'm not the boss here and in this, I don't envy him, that's for sure. Your brother's not going to like this, not at all."

* * *

_The Universe watched a child born into this realm with the name Aura Henley on its lips, her fate twisted by many hands. Many years later, this was her story - your story - as the Universe saw it unfold, the path shared alongside another's, the end yet undetermined..._

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's (Long) Notes:** Forgive me for this note's length, especially in comparison to the prologue-like chapter above, but I've much to say before we really begin...

Would you believe me when I said that this came about as a challenge between a friend and I? That in barely a week, I wrote over thirty-some pages of notes for a two-part series based on an idea stewing in the back of mind since _Thor_ first appeared in theatres? Such an inspiration, Loki's Dirty Whispers - so many share an obsession with the god of mischief and lies to the point of ecstasy, some even abandoning dignity all for the sake of enjoyment. Those these words be mine, save for the few whispers I use here, it is thanks to the fandom and the muse himself that I derive my growing lust and imaginations.

Now, I know that most readers won't read beyond this chapter, some having little notion to spare for original characters in pairings, but I hope I can satisfy at least in terms of story because I do intend to imply that you, the reader, are the protagonist - this is your story. I've only given you a name with which to hide behind as I try to fulfill your fantasies and tell your story (Second person just didn't seem to fit here, so my beta and I agreed to set this in third). Would it also please you if I promise that there will be smut - it's already written, in fact... I couldn't help it. Goes to show you where my priorities were, huh?

Even so, I believe I have spent many a night without sleep trying to make this plot plausible in most ways, the story mapped out it its entirety including its sequel. Since the story's inception, I've been mending tears and filling holes wherever I find something that just didn't quite _work_ when it came to how Loki thinks and acts, pouring over pages and pages of notes, writing and re-writing before I even began. In fact, my beta, the lovely **Ms. ****Pagliacci, **recently told me that I must have a setting in my brain that personifies Tim Gunn's famous quote "make it work". This was in light of the highly detailed notes that I often draft for my stories, particularly fanfiction, in this case. It's a maddening thing, pouring over and over until everything fits just right. But it's more than that - it's hard enough staying in character when you're certain you'd rather them act a different way to suit your desires. Granted, that not how it works, is it?

Regardless, I do hope you enjoy what I've written and what is to come. Like my other works, all I ask if for time, some patience, and a bit of encouragement if you see fit. (Then again, I don't think **Ms. Pagliacci **will let me leave this unfinished even if I begged - I teased her with so much.)

Thank you for reading!

P.S. - For the musically appreciative, **Ms. Pagliacci **and I did compile a soundtrack for my Skewed Series, mostly from our own collections of music. Each song was deemed by **Ms. Pagliacci **and myself as reminiscent of a part of the story, from relationship and its evolution to just simple the characters personalities and drives to the story itself. If interested, I'm more than happy to share the list - you have but to ask.


	2. At First Glance

**Skewed Deception**

Inspired by LDW's Winter Fanfiction Contest, Part I of IV: "Walls torn asunder and exiled into the shadows of SHIELD, the fallen prince scrambles for power and redemption in any form." Loki X Reader/OFC

* * *

_This fan fiction may contain spoilers, canon and also non-canon endeavours and history. Its contents will be derived, apart from the author's imagination, mostly from the movie!verse (Thor and The Avengers - no mention of The Dark World to be made for continuity's sake) with a sprinkling of comic!verse and Norse lore. With respect to the rules of the contest set forth by the tumblr blog, Loki's Dirty Whispers, the pairing is set thusly to fulfill that one guideline - all whispers used, of which there are only five throughout the piece at present, will be bolded in the text and also linked in the author's notes found at the end of every chapter. Regarding the original character pairing, even knowing that that alone has cost the author some readers, said character's description will be vague and generic enough so that any reader can imagine themselves in her place._

* * *

Author: Illusionary Ennui  
Disclaimer: If it's not in the Marvel universe (movies or comics) or the wiki, it's mine or actual lore.  
Chapter Rating: M  
Chapter Warnings: Angst, Drama  
Beta: **Ms. Pagliacci**  
Edited: 01.17.2013

* * *

**Chapter Two: At First Glance**

_A chance is but chance_

_When truth is more than it seems_

_Hiding amidst fear_

In her twenty-five years, Aura Henley valued one thing more than solitude: restful sleep. Yet in the past year alone, nightmares lingered in every corner, in every minute stolen in pursuit of rest to chase away any notion of comfort and respite. Now, fresh from oblivion and shaking, she stumbled from the bathroom with her face still wet from the splash of water from her kitchen sink, her tear streaks hidden beneath the shine. Three o'clock in the morning and the incessant knocking woke her from the chimera, the visions all too familiar since _that_ night while she rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

Smoothing the wrinkles from her camisole and yoga pants, her fingers closed around the doorknob and a frisson of trepidation crawled deep into her chest. Just on the other side, she recognised the aura of another troubled mind, he too bearing scars of _that _same day, many of which remained etched in the farthest reaches of his mind.

"Mr. Barton." Reserved, she greeted him over the dissonant squeak of the door creaking open.  
Jetlag dogged even her most subtle movements after such a hectic schedule when the good doctor insisted that they return stateside as soon as possible. The flight from Norway to New York left he aching and irritable and _God_, how she hated the cheap accommodations made in light of her sudden arrival. Granted, this wasn't the first time the sight of the master assassin and at least two more agents, both cautious of her reputation as they stood behind, graced her doorstep, in the middle of the night without warning. At her home or these shabby little motel rooms, nothing ever changed.

"It seems my nightmare isn't over, is it?"

"No, ma'am," Clint Barton said as he stepped inside with his head hung low. Without the door blocking him, she felt his aura as it flared with apprehension. "And I'm afraid it's about to get worse."

Knowing better than to argue, she held out her hands, only to stare at the archer in surprise when the familiar precautions deviated from their course. Submission had become something of a ceremony, yet no metal was clasped around her wrists. During previous encounters over the past year, when they dragged her from bed unannounced, her guards had always brought the electro-magnetic bands, a tailored gift of genius from Anthony Stark, for her safety and their own. Unlike the other agents, she proved to be a liability - the less she had known, the better. The EM shields, despite their brief success, only managed to scramble the transmission of energy traces for short periods of time before they sputtered and died, always short-circuiting by the surge of her ability beneath its constraint. Every interrogation had followed that pattern, even when she screened the Avengers themselves, including Barton a second time after his return from captivity.

Oh, what a broken man had Barton been despite the cognitive recalibration. So toyed with and abused; scars ran all over his aura, slow to heal by his own shame. She shivered at that memory, the recollection of the sheer discomfort and shame rolling off the man in heaping waves. Her mind had reeled back, doubling in on itself, shying away.

Even now she caught Barton's glances of anxious recognition as a taste of those painful emotions bubbled near the surface. She felt his need to be up high, to evade, to not have that hurt and humiliation exposed, even if it was only between the two of them. Something kept the man on edge and it left her trembling at the prospect of what was to come. A quivering hand reached out for Barton's bare limb, hovering just over the skin of his upper arm.

After all these years, she had some control over the talent coursing her blood, but she still hated the act, that of willfully reading another. Her skin touched his and he slapped her hand away in the same instant. The suffocating sense of rage intermingled with fear. It was all still there, pulled through the thin veneer of instinct that kept him protected. The feeling of not being complete control rushed into her, a reminder of his once restrained freewill which crippled him in the wake of possession. It flowed through him and over her being where her disquietude coupled with his disgrace.

A sense of wrongness cloaked everything; nothing was as it should have been. Even without words to match the inner turmoil (really, there weren't any), whatever brought these feelings back scared her as much as they did him.

Perhaps she should have stayed in Tromsø...

* * *

_Phil Coulson first knew Aura Henley only in name by means of her grandfather, Captain Jonathan Henley. Never had a man been so taken by a little seven year old girl when Coulson sought him, sent to convey SHIELD's condolences for the death sentence he had been served: a brain tumour at the base of his skull slowly laying waste to his body and mind. At first, it had been a simple matter, a kindness done in gratitude for years of service. But, in the man's old age, the good Captain began to rambled about his time in the military, and soon Coulson's heart began to beat in earnest - Captain Henley had been among those on the search with Howard Stark! But it was more than that that kept Coulson in the hospital room until the early morning hours. Aside from the chance to learn more about his hero, it was the man's knowing gaze and tenacity that stunned the SHIELD agent most, as if the good captain knew his enthusiasm and catered to his persistence the moment they shook hands._

_It had been eerie then just as it was when he met Miss Henley some sixteen years later, but he never forgot that day..._

_During the war, Captain Henley had been a petty officer, second class, taken along by his superiors for his cunning and diligence. He had been there when Stark retrieved the Cube from the ocean floor. Thinking back on it, Henley admitted he had sensed it before they arrived, that strange pulse of energy that left his hair on end and his mind distracted. It was then that everything had changed. The Tesseract itself had changed him, calling to him as it latched onto something deep inside. It ate its way into his very soul and opened his mind in way that even Charles Xavier couldn't fathom._

_At least, that is what the old man had told him when he confided his fears that his granddaughter shared that warped instinct. Such a terrible destiny, he imagined, to be so young and blighted to view the world with its trappings thrown aside, unable to hide in ignorance or desire. Fallen into a solemn state, Henley knew he would never see that sweet child find her way in the world, that he wouldn't be able to help her understand that which even he couldn't explain. What the Tesseract had done to him in all his years of service, first in the Navy and then in SHIELD, passed on his blood only to reawaken again in another by some sick design of fate or biology. Perhaps both._

_"I told Stark when we stumbled across the damn thing that the Tesseract was a dangerous," Henley warned him, his fingers tightening in the over-starched bed linens. "As I told him then, Fury should know better than to mess with something only God can comprehend. It's a living thing and it can show us more than we dare dream, but everything has its price. It showed me more than I want to remember and I barely touched it and even now it haunts me - I saw that poor little girl of mine suffering. It's cursed my family and I'm damned for not seeing the truth until now - we should have left that thing in the ocean. Mark my words, young man, I'm afraid it'll be the end of her because you'll need her."_

_Coulson didn't believe it until he found himself on her doorstep and that same sense of perception washed over him. It left him feeling unguarded, exposed. Everything seemed bared before her. What made her so special, so like her grandfather if only by chance?_

_All his superiors had wanted was for her to confirm or refute the theory that the incident in New Mexico might have some relation to the Cube, having tied the marking on the so-called satellite to match those in the legends of the Tesseract itself. It had been a gamble, of course, but SHIELD pursued all avenues. With Captain Henley gone those past fifteen years, only one lifeline to that connection remained. Even then, he knew that she saw right through him as he proffered her lies at first by the empty expression on her face, her eyes peering at him over thick spectacles. Something in her reserved sigh and acceptance despite the truth reminded him of that old man, the light of tenderness overshadowed by a shapeless, unseen burden..._

Another year later and he regretted it as he had even then: he wished he had never mentioned the name of Aura Henley within earshot of Director Nicholas Fury. Swallowed up by SHIELD barely two years ago, abused and scarred for their sake, they showed her horrors and more, all in the name of the protection of the planet and its people. However, when they had no need of her special talents, they stuffed her in the dusty corner of the Psi-Division, abandoned and nearly forgotten until they had use for her again. Yet, what they asked of her now couldn't compare.  
This ordeal might very well be the end of her, Coulson grimaced in thought as he let his eyes drift towards the CCTV screens of their prisoner's quarters. Unknowingly, the spiteful princeling of mischief and lies had already left his mark upon her. That fact then remained: had she moved beyond that anguished memory?

* * *

"Miss Henley." Anthony Stark smirked at her over his coffee mug, one hand dancing across the digital keyboard as he checked the security protocols once again. "It's been a while. Bring me any of those French pastries Coulson keeps telling me about?"

Unable to answer, Aura offered him a sad smile as she shook her head. She remembered the first time she met the famous former weapons dealer-turned-hero. Back then, when she had explained her talent to him before screening him at Fury's request for the Avengers Initiative, Stark had openly teased her about her given name in relation to her ability. Of anyone who had bore the brunt of its discomfort, he accepted it and eased the tension with jokes and grins. The memory may have made her smile, but her feet shifted beneath her while her fingers flexed in light of something far more distracting.

Within the tiny observation room, someone's aura filled the space with restlessness energy, pressing around them. It bore down on her like a unshakeable weight, like oil coating her skin. That energy rolled off the one pacing to and fro, his great bulk sagging with the burden of his thoughts. So, that must be the all-mighty Thor, she assumed with a bite of remorse. The power she sensed beneath the muscle burned as bright as a star, vibrating on a different scale from the humans in attendance. Next to such an imposing figure, they all seemed so small, insignificant even. Whether he was aware of it or not, she was unsure. Here, without contact, that brilliant power touched hers enough to read the looming distress welling in the warrior's heart. Unsettled by its force, she suddenly lamented the exclusion of her EM shields in SHIELD's haste and purpose.

"Thor, let me introduce Aura Henley, non-combatant tool of SHIELD and a damn fine cook, if I may so."

To her right, Coulson frowned in his chagrin and she shot him a kind look of reassurance. Coulson once told her that he hated the way Fury kept her locked away, hiding her out of sight whenever they didn't need her. To SHIELD, she was just an instrument, something of value only when used. In a way, they all were, she explained. Everyone in the agency had their purpose and place, some more necessary than others. Respect for her grandfather won her only so much goodwill when she was otherwise ineffective as one of their number. With the drawbacks of her "gift" nearly eclipsing its usefulness, she accepted the gilded cage of her service for what it was and nothing more.

Thor, on the other hand, knew nothing of her, nothing of how easy it was for her to read the agitated glow about him. Unlike the others, who used natural defences to block her ambient reach, the inescapable brush of her aura and against another's which she could not control or ignore, it was as though her ability posed no threat, the Asgardian unfazed by its effect. When he reached for her hand, she stumbled back a step, recoiling from the wall of his power and surge of intrigue as he pressed a gentleman's kiss to her knuckles. Although the gesture had no meaning to her, it left her with the imprint of his empathy, not only towards herself but also to another. In its wake, she could not help but wonder what drove such a passionate man to fret like a worried mother.

"It is a pleasure, my lady." His manner resonated as one of polite reverence with painted hope over the darkness clouding the edge of his presence. Inside, something twisted in pain, a desperate need broken by loss and unseen by anyone else. Blue eyes darted about in thought as his aura then swirled with a new light. "I fear that I bear a heavy burden, dear lady, and I humbly request a chance to share my plight. Perhaps we may speak in private?"

* * *

Led away to another room, empty save for a row of chairs and a span of black glass, Aura began to quake with dread. With every step inside, something tugged at her heart, traipsing its cold fingers down her spine. At last alone, the door shut behind them, the glass lightened to become transparent and she scrambled back against the wall, hands cracking hard in the wild scramble, at the sight beyond its safety. That ceaseless tugging then tore her asunder, left her mind shattered by the whispers of memory. Her knees shook and mouth went dry; her will drained away.

"My lady, what troubles you?"

"I-I'm sorry." For the second time that night, she wept, governed by sheer terror. "I'm so sorry, but I can't help you. Please, don't make me do this. Please..."

"Forgive me, I did not meant to cause you such alarm. For this, I am truly sorry. All I ask if for your sympathy, if nothing else. Please, my brother needs our help - I know not what tortures his mind and body have suffered, but I still believe he can be redeemed."

It was his genuine concern as Thor wrapped an arm around her shoulders that stopped her wretched sobs. His quiet handling may have eased a part of her despair, but the truth remained - Loki, a force of destruction and madness, the source of her pain, sat not twenty feet away. When Thor asked what caused her such distress, she could not halt the words pouring from her mouth in anguish and through her tears, she felt the Asgardian falter in his conviction.

"I was there... when he came through the Tesseract," she whimpered, her hands clawing at the arm holding her up.

Summoned from the depths of her subconscious, she dragged the memories up to tumble from her lips. For weeks it had been whispering to her, calling to her, filling her head with images she dare not describe. Unknown to her comrades, it wrapped her in its power, seeming to hold her tight. It told her to wait until that day when it told her to run just before it awoke completely, forced into submission by something far worse. She had never spoken of its control before, instead keeping her fears to herself. Yes, she knew of Loki long before he arrived.

It was in the flood of words to Thor that followed her admission where she revealed a taste of her very heart, that which frightened her most: she feared what she might find beneath the surface of Loki's façade for she knew of his suffering at the hands of Thanos - that, too, had the Tesseract shown her, images too painful to express but disjointed enough to spare her some of the agony. Thor would never be able to understand that should she touch Loki as he was, she would feel what he felt, suffer what notions he kept at bay; in this, his pain would become her pain. Although driven more than that, her past concealed so vigilantly, she believed it enough to justify her rejection.

"Nearly every night I wake in fear after that day. Would you blame for this rational fear?"

"No, I do not," Thor muttered in defeat, his wounded pride sinking around him.

Her words had cut him worse than his brother's tongue and yet some glimmer of hope remained. It pulsed at his centre of his being, just beyond the reach of her power, before strengthening into something greater. Over the din of blood rushing in her ears, over the chorus of her fear, she felt him grasp on that shiny pinpoint of hope until she sensed it well up and spill towards her. A heavy hand soon rested atop her head, warm and reassuring before Thor spoke once more.

"Dear lady, do you not see?! No one, not even my father, could boast such understanding. Can you not accept, that in all the nine realms, that perhaps fate had led us into your care? For who better to uncover my brother's hardened heart than one who might see beyond the mask he so desperately wears? Will you not at least try to understand him? I cannot convince him to abandon his old ways, but where I failed, you may succeed. Loki is my brother but I can no longer reach out him as I once did, for we have grown apart in his madness and I fear for his sake. I beg of you: please help him."

There was so much more to the warrior than Aura first assumed, a loyalty that wore no boundaries. Buried in those impassioned words lay a bond stronger than blood, tested time and time again, strained to its breaking point but unbroken. Yet for all his empathy, what did he have to show for all his kindness? Nevertheless, for the life of her, her tongue refused to convey the logical response when her fears begged her otherwise.

"As you wish."

Though at first she hated herself for speaking those words, she knew better for she was no different than they - who was she to deny them? Her mind said one thing while her heart chose another. There, she offered herself to his cause, if only to face her demon, the itch of his mark burning, obstinate and inconsolable.

* * *

To his credit, Thor left Aura in Coulson's care to collect herself in the aftermath of their negotiations. He would not have her stricken in tears and ruled by her reservations before attempting such a task when it was confidence that would see them through. Despite his reluctance of manipulating her compassion, an act more fitting of Loki's character, Thor reassured himself of its worth, that they each had something yet to gain, and bound himself in that steadfastness. Bursting with the promise of success, he could not wait to share the glad tidings with his brother but Loki met him with nothing less than scorn and disdain, wallowing in seething derision while he sat upon his bed.

"You _will _heed her, brother." His jaw set with his resolve, Thor stayed his ground. For both Loki's sake and that of the lady Henley's, he rebuked his sibling's hateful dismissal of any aid, of any sympathy spared for his well being and future. Though Loki himself had accepted the penance of exiled servitude, it boded ill to cast aside such a rare kindness, even bought by treaty. Grown tired at last of such pettiness, the Asgardian prince chided his brother for his childish temper and once again tried to have him see reason, even in its futility. "Though you may care nothing for the risks we take for you, she will still see to your exile. You will not simply sit here in silence. I tell you now that it will be by her hands that you earn the Midgardians' favour."

A vicious roar tore from Loki's mouth. His feet slammed onto the ground when he stood, his emerald eyes ablaze, wild with revulsion. In his indignation, Loki demanded why should he submit to a mere mortal when they were all beneath him. They, such vile, weak creatures who only served themselves, could no more offer him salvation than a flea return stolen blood.

"I would not even be here if not for the All-Father's manipulations - I will never forgive him for using me just for the return of the Tesseract. I owe these peasants nothing, nor do I possess any remorse," Loki spat, venom dripping from every word. "Bring her before me and I shall show you just how futile this farce of yours remains."

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Hello again, dearies. Firstly, thank you to all for the interest show thus far, and especially to molescout for such a lovely review. I must admit, this chapter was little harder to write now that Henley has made her appearance. In fact, much of this chapter was written on the fly because I failed to realize at first that my initial idea of her connection to SHIELD was rather weak. I hope this satisfies in the long run and continues to hold your intrigue. At present, I think I'm keeping the chapters somewhat short so that I can move quickly so that I won't lose my momentum thus far. Regardless, until such a time that my muse leaves me, I'll carry on with this lest something convinces me others.

Also, have I mentioned how much I love having a Creative Writing major as a beta? Much love, my friend!

EDIT: And yes, I'm an idiot for somehow latching on to Tønsberg instead of Tromsø... must have been the "T" that I made me somehow think that was correct. Well, at least they're both in Norway.


	3. Unto the Breach

**Skewed Deception**

Inspired by LDW's Winter Fanfiction Contest, Part I of IV: "Walls torn asunder and exiled into the shadows of SHIELD, the fallen prince scrambles for power and redemption in any form." Loki X OFC(Reader)

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_This fan fiction may contain spoilers, canon and also non-canon endeavours and history. Its contents will be derived, apart from the author's imagination, mostly from the movie!verse (Thor and The Avengers - no mention of The Dark World to be made for continuity's sake) with a sprinkling of comic!verse and Norse lore. With respect to the rules of the contest set forth by the tumblr blog, Loki's Dirty Whispers, the pairing is set thusly to fulfill that one guideline - all whispers used, of which there are only five throughout the piece at present, will be bolded in the text and also linked in the author's notes found at the end of every chapter. Regarding the original character pairing, even knowing that that alone has cost the author some readers, said character's description will be vague and generic enough so that any reader can imagine themselves in her place._

* * *

Author: Illusionary Ennui

Disclaimer: If it's not in the Marvel universe (movies or comics) or the wiki, it's mine or actual lore.

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Blood, a little Bondage, Drama, Mention of Torture, Violence.

Beta: **Ms. Pagliacci**

Edited: 02.03.2013

* * *

**Chapter Three: Unto the Breach**

_Cast aside thy fears_

_Fate set thee upon this path_

_Thrown into chaos_

"I'm sorry, Henley."

Philip Coulson fidgeted in his wheelchair, his back to Aura Henley as she changed out of her nightclothes in the observation room. For the third time that night, he offered his obligatory, but sincerest apologies for dragging the poor woman out of bed in such a hurry and with so little information. Discourtesies aside, he had known that she would never have stepped one foot in the prisoner's cell had she been aware of the truth.

Although Jane Foster had done them a favour by ushering their return, haste and safety warranted an even quicker schedule. That did not mean that he still didn't question the motives, rancorous by his own lot.

Why on earth did she make a promise to Thor that she would do whatever she could to help that murderer?

Like him, SHIELD only pandered to Thor in order to earn his trust - they had no intention of letting the exiled prince free or of pardoning his laundry list of crimes, destruction of property being the most costly in the mindset of the council over the severity of the countless murders. Money-grabbing bastards; always prioritizing the non-sentient assets, the ones that couldn't say _no_…

Except this one particular case where they kept their hands free of Pandora's Box and he didn't blame them.

Loki, if he was to remain, would be as a prisoner at best, not some portable wealth of knowledge or field assistance that Thor hoped he would become. Coulson, for all his worth, knew better than to grant leniency to madness. To prove his point, he brought up the New Mexico incident that left her in agony for months. He reminded her of all those who fell during the invasion. In return, all he heard was silence.

Was she even listening?

Unable to leave it there, unable to accept such indifference to the danger, a smart man knew to never leave anything to chance. Despite the regret, the old wounds not yet healed, he brought up what happened to himself and to Barton, how she felt and saw firsthand the effects of Loki's insanity. It was something they all believed, they all knew: in the end, Loki was and always would be a threat - no amount of coddling by any party would change that.

"Is this what you really want, Aura?"

"I don't know."

Over the stillness, before he could argue more as he was wont to do, a quiet voice echoed in a solemn tone to add that perhaps she didn't have a choice in the matter. Turning in his chair, he caught her shrugging into the old grey cardigan snatched from her hotel, her face an impassive mask. At such a blatant submission, his lips twisted into a grimace. Derision overtook Coulson's attempts at persuasion but he would not leave it lie. This wasn't some walk in the park that Thor had asked - she would listen to reason, wouldn't she? Fists and jaw clenched, he spun her disregard around to minister that they always have a choice and Loki had made too many wrong ones. With his hand gripping the arms of his chair too tight, he tossed aside regulation and his superior's orders to convince her, even with his "business as usual" cadence to his speech, that she shouldn't let Thor guilt her into helping him, into helping Loki. This time, he cautioned, she wasn't just facing her fear. This time, she ran head first into the fire and Thor seemed more than content to allow her to perish in its heat for his own selfish desire to see his brother redeemed. Desperation was no excuse even when Coulson saw that it was in her nature to help others even at the cost of her own happiness, her own sanity. That was who she was.

It didn't mean she would act so foolishly, did it? Did she really mean to step into the lion's den?

"I've made of my mind, Phil," she said, her words no more than a hushed admission while she straightened her jacket. "You should know by now that I never go back on my promises."

Again, he refused to leave the matter lie - he would make her see reason and Fury could just go hang himself and let this one slide.

Courage and resolve mustered, his ever-calm composure maintained, he asked her again if she would reconsider, throwing everything he could to rouse her better judgement, to drive the fear home.

Say she could read him, what then? What if Thor was wrong? What if Loki had no intention of sitting by and serve in the shadows, a place of abhorrence for one who sought to stand above all?

Whatever the case may be, Loki remained a liability, even without his power - he would break her just as easily as another if she would let him.

From where he sat, he made note of just how nervous she seemed as he gauged her response, her once impeccable mask cracking. This was not the first time he had glimpsed her stumbling beneath the pressure of who she was and what SHIELD forced upon her, that fragile balance in sway. When he had first brought her to the Tesseract, he had seen such a shiver like that as it wracked her the moment its power washed over them unseen. Every day after, never easing, she hid it, veiled that discomfort until that last day: the night Loki appeared. Of course he remembered that that rare sight of her fear wrote on her face as if painted with the knowledge that she had failed them as the Tesseract held her silence, though he would never know that truth.

"He's not some wounded puppy you can make better. He's a madman. A mindless killer. Look at you. You're shaking like some of the guys in the mental ward, Henley. Do you forget that your one defence is just as much of a problem as your ability itself?"

Militant fear blazed to life within the woman's eyes, a visible shudder once more wracking her form in the wake of his words. Yes. Finally. A reaction, Coulson observed with slight pride. The allusion never ceased to stop her in her tracks for the both remembered all too well.

Only those closest in her circle knew of her ability to flood others with her emotions, with her fear and hurt. An accidental discovery, to be sure, but he remembered the pained, panic expression on the traitor's face. Eyes thrown wide, mouth agape, and body shaking by the sadist's joy at what he had done, her own fear and disgust had surged into that man to the point of physical discomfort. In its wake, instilled with due terror, he had confessed if only to be locked away from such a monster in female form, reduced to nothing more than a child, broken beyond measure. It was incidents like that reminded him that she was not all she seemed, that the demure thing before him was more than the façade.

Yet beneath it all, she was truly kind and what she meant to do would test even that benevolence.

If she intended to continue this travesty, the agent hoped in secret that she might sense that same twisted darkness as he found himself betting on that disconcerting recollection, that truth. He prayed that she might leave the Asgardian to lie in a heap on the floor, leave him drowning in a hate that he justly deserved. Not in retribution for his own wound, of course, its pain a worthy cause in the end. But for all those who suffered at the madman's hands - that is what he hoped.

A consoling thought, if anything, Coulson mused as he reached to the holster beneath his suit jacket. Still, the absolute gravity of the prospect yet remained - what they asked was no easy task, the risks far exceeding the reward.

"I can't stop you, but you need to be on your guard. If anything, at least take a gun."

With another sigh, she placated him for her sake more than her own. The brush of her fingers of his hand when she reached for the weapon gave him a glimpse of the maelstrom brewing beneath the emptiness - it seemed they both bore deeper scars by Loki's hands than they cared to admit. Bottling it up just as he did, she would never show it, unwilling to burden others with them.

Each fallen into silence, Coulson held his tongue. Instead, he squashed his pride and took comfort in the sight of Henley sliding the gun into the back of her slacks before she turned away again. Again, the agent watched her struggle with her own thoughts, shifting from one foot to the other in fretful, jarring steps where she stood by the glass. Sparing a sigh for himself, he frowned when she pulled on her hair, its length so much shorter than it used to be since that day in New Mexico, while she waited for Thor to escort her to face the one who may very well break her completely.

Why he had drawn the short-straw in this life, Coulson imagined he would never understand nor did he let it trouble him - the old man had been right all long and that was much worse. What burned him even more than that was it had been his own doing that led that scared little girl there.

_What have we done, Captain?_

* * *

When the Asgardian warrior came to collect her, the conflict within him continued to rage beneath the stoicism, a melancholy thing worn deep and made endless. From even that distance, Aura perceived that worry plaguing that he did the right thing. She felt that fear, that consuming dread that he may have yet condemned them all out of foolishness.

"I know I cannot place any faith in my brother's speech where he might hide behind clever half-truths and trickery. Here, I am no more than a bystander, caught in his web, unknowing of what may befall us next. You are brave to see this through. Perhaps only you may see his true inclinations for he is otherwise beyond reason of the usual persuasion."

Irrespective of Loki's disposition, in Thor's mind, the black prince made a far greater asset than an enemy, even in driven by madness. That was how he carried himself into the fray, heedless of the blood and pain trailing in his brother's wake. Still, he knew the dangers and despite his desire for peace between them, Thor warned her to hold fast – even deprived of his power, Loki would be some guileless rival, easily cast down. Whatever she intended, she was not trust his brother whatever she may find. Nor she should allow herself to fall prey to his sin-sly urgings. He knew not of how much control Loki might possess or what power remained at his disposal, some which may very well alter her perception of his presence, those meant to deceive and beguile.

"Even if your talent may prove unsuccessful against the likes of Loki and his seiðr, I humbly offer my deepest gratitude for any effort spent in this pursuit."

_You waste your thanks, sir._

Made in retort, Aura's mind went to work the attempt to disenchant herself from such fervent words.

As if there could be someone to bar the power she could not control, one who might hide and grant her some of peace. Her grandfather never found such a person, not in all his years, and died unchanged. What had begun as simple instinct, a greater awareness of life and its machinations than the average man, ran even stronger in her blood – there would be no reprieve from that fate. Not for her, just as there had been Jonathan Henley. The only saving grace had been that no one else suffered, that none of her kin shared its oppression. Though it drove them apart and she from the rest of the world, she contented herself with its comfort, the fragile thread that held her together, a burden lifted as long as it remained forgotten.

And yet, the little, frighten child within wrapped her arms about that single, glittering prospect of exception. With a heavy hand, Aura slapped the pitiable thing's hand away and shoved her other self back into her darkened corner where she was meant to stay. There was the only safe place left anymore, the solace of her mind where she desired the same as Thor if only to spare herself a worse fate. Despite that, they both, mind and body, still sought its promise, a leaf cast adrift in this mad venture. The longer she dwelt on it, the more frightening it became as Aura shivered with the feeling of ice slipping into the pit of her stomach.

How could she show any pity, anything but indifference to one who wrought such pain? To herself and to others? Perhaps the Tesseract _had_ left more than memory as it and some perverse strike of fate seemed determined to tether her to this monster – to this liesmith, this sorcerer, to this being made to be a god - without her consent in a way she dared not imagine…

No, she refused to think on it.

Lest she drown, she denied herself the belief that something long gone yet held her in its grasp.

Once more, she buried these thoughts beneath a veil of false courage, marshaled more for Thor's sake than her own. Apprehension fringed the edge of her will, tamped down but not forgotten as she stepped towards the threshold of the cell, wary of the hum of an electromagnetic field pulsating inside its walls. A familiar precaution, but for whom was this one designed? For Herself? Or for the one clapped in shackles?

Again, the worried child grabbed at her mind the moment her foot reached beyond the threshold.

Cold and empty, something pulled at her. At her power. At her spirit. A black hole unto himself, Loki sat before her, chained and muzzled. Nothing betrayed him. Unlike Thor, she barely sensed his presence and even less - rather closer to nothing at all - of his emotional, mental state. Only the familiar tang of the Tesseract, its brilliant call unmistakable, reached towards her, drawing her forward.

Unseen, that helpless child within her mind, the center of her being ensnared by her power, broke free. The once divorced part of her, that piece meant to save herself from this, ran screaming into her embrace, no longer separate. Panic overrode every sense, each rational thought. Gleaning anything concrete from this soul's aura would not be made without contact. To serve this cause, she would lay hands upon the one claimed as the god of Mischief and Chaos.

Aura swallowed hard around the dread lodged in her throat, her chest tight and the truth inescapable.

* * *

Clothed in disdain, Loki longed for the comfort of his armour rather than the human rags, even those which boasted their quality as he wore them instead. Still, he longed for the assurance brought by its weight, the tang of metal mail and the rich scent of leather. He felt so weak now with so little left. The once feared god of mischief and chaos, reduced to barely more than a paltry mortal.

Sickening.

Oh how he hated himself in that moment, worsened by the Thor's orders as he meant to parade him before some hapless human like a war-trophy, bound for their safety and amusement. There he sat, the cruel gag and shackles returned as further proof of the elder's ill-used sovereignty.

Thrice-curse that blighted churl.

Reminded by brazen humiliation, he smashed his fists down with righteous fury, the metal's clash reverberating off the stoic walls. A trivial libation for his disparagement, but far from satisfying. As if to taunt him further, by chance he caught his reflection on the polished surface of the table. Clicking his tongue, he made note of the cotton-dryness of his mouth, not a drop of water spared for his comfort. His face alone showed more than that, however, his captivity worn like the chains upon is wrists. With his skin and lips washed with more pallor than usual, the dark rings beneath his sunken eyes proved starker in contrast. A twinge of shame consumed him at the sight of the fading remnants of the Tesseract's influence in his eyes, now nearly gone from their emerald depths. Only flecks of the pale blue left tainted the wide irises.

If he had been able to hold on to that power, broken free of Thanos, where might he now stand? Did some glorious throne rest still beyond his reach, the visions of the Tesseract not forgotten? Could he forget the answer fuelled by that notion of bringing order to a world of chaos it had instilled within him, change that which had been true where he once was unable to control his own path?

Such was better than being _nothing_, the thought clung to without reservation. He had craved it then, the truest freedom where he stood above it all, his value unquestioned. He needed it to redefine himself, the unworthy son. The Tesseract had been his answer and, in spite of everything, that too was gone.

Here and now, the will of Asgard meant nothing to him, neither its citizens nor its designs. Just as he did of the reign of Thanos, he wished to be free of it as well. He no longer cared about proving his worth, for serving an ungrateful throne, or for the sweet savour of revenge. This farce would change nothing. Once again, Thor and the All-Father had forced their wishes upon him. Could he not be free of their shadows, destined for them to tear asunder all that he worked for himself, to rob him of all that which he rightfully earned?

How could this -

The tell-tale spark of sliding metal broke his quiet seething.

So, the time had come, he mused. This game was his and his alone – he refused to concede. Veiling himself in pride, he meant to show the mortal no acknowledgement, intended to show her no respect and bend his knee, not even in forced silence.

Let her do what she liked. Let her try and make sense of him, a master of misdirection and discord. They wished to know if he would prove a lamb or the wolf in his exile? That he meant failure in his punishment? That he toyed them with the notion of compliance as to serve his own agenda?

As if he could do anything more than scoff and sneer, bound by more than metal.

So be it - this caged, maddened wolf had bite even with its fangs stolen.

He would not submit.

Those thoughts grasped, he straightened and steeled himself for the debacle ahead only to find himself taken aback when he sensed her on the edge of his periphery. 'Twas a subtle magic, strange and quite, that washed over him. One which left him uncomfortably exposed. Opened. Seen. Dissected. Something else within teased him with its familiarity, that same vibration of seiðr, even so warped and weak, to which he was so accustomed. And yet that alone did not leave him bereft of his aim, soon puzzled by an even greater curiosity. Beneath that veneer of seiðr writhed the familiar tang of the Tesseract, as if a part of its influence dwelled within, penetrating to her very begin.

Just what was this mortal?

"Brother, I brought the lady Henley."

That name.

It ignited a disjointed flash of recognition, a prod. With Thor's eyes upon him, he dared not proffer him the satisfaction that something had caught him off-guard. Calling upon what little power he possessed, he tried to mask himself, to avoid that discerning press of the mortal-made magic as it flooded towards him, barely controlled.

So lost in that task, a frisson of shock lit his nerves when he glanced up. Not yet stepping back, she stood on unstable ground, a wave of fear and concern pouring from her. At least he could sense that much with his fading power, but it was her hands that drew his widening stare. With them, she motioned to the mouth-guard which sealed his lips. Her gaze mirrored his own as she reached for the device.

Over the cacophony of blood resounding in his ears, Loki heard Thor warned the mortal woman against such action, the device made to him from calling forth aid or manipulating his captors. Such a precaution was more for her own safety (and her sanity, Loki mused with a haughty remark), but in turn, she offered something interesting: the assurance that she could see past any lie should they touch.

_That I doubt, mortal_.

Fixing her with nothing but a look of contempt, his face hid his reaction as he met again her gaze. Those eyes spoke of discomfort, her body tensed as something else tied her stomach into knots. Despite that, he had to admire her mastery of her fear, her hands kept steady, readied for his assent. For it, he pursued her desire, if only to spite Thor and revelled in the look of dread crossing the warrior's rugged, worry-worn features.

With a nod, Loki leant forward as she chanced much to remove the mechanism that silenced him and free his voice. A trigger pressed, he felts the pins inside release, the needles retracting from his skin where once thread ensured the end to his manipulations. The old wounds torn open, the lukewarm blood trickled over the thin line of his lips and down his chin. Some dribbled into his mouth, seeping along the connected bit caught in his teeth, the coppery tang oh so familiar. Its hold on him broken, the once seamless muzzle at last unhinged and split into two pieces. Heavily it fell into the woman's hands when he spat out its bloodied, parted metal gag to relieve himself of its twisted, underhanded purpose completely.

"You have heart, but you may yet regret this kindness," Loki said, his tone hoarse and bothersome but otherwise unaffected. A feral sight he must have been, unable to cast himself in a glamour to conceal the scars and sores. With a flourish, he wiped the blood from his face on the back of his sleeve, the act paused only once to relish in the sound of the wicked device clattering onto the table.

So good to finally speak with words, their sting far more potent than an icy stare.

The pathetic wench did not answer his glibness however before her hand brushed one of his manacled own, the tips of her fingers rasping against the cuff of his shirt over the metal. In that barest contact, he sensed her energies assault him. When she touched him, it was the sudden sense of invasion that makes him wary of her touch as everyone else who had borne the brunt of that twisted talent. A gentle tugging at his spirit, the oppressive and cloying sense that he isn't alone in his space as it wrapped around him like an indiscernible, diaphanous veil just beyond suffocation. Measure for measure, he reached for his own magic to prick past her power at her outmost thoughts, the emotions at the very surface to find her apprehension, her terror as he tried in vain to mask his own. Her fingers twitched, quick and telling, and she withdrew, the movement slight but not unnoticed.

So, she _had_ sensed him reading her in return.

Good.

Save for the unnatural perception, nothing else remarkable wreathed the woman. No prestige, no noble upbringing could be validated. A fire burned but contained, unseen and protected. A necessary evil balanced by the burden of conscience, seeking the shadows where she felt safest, hidden. Yet overall, the essence of her fear persisted and he latched onto it even as his mind reeled with the impression of that bizarre form of magic, different but not wholly unknown. He swallowed his own pride to hide his own disquiet where he once more cloaked himself in false preening and a baleful chuckle.

Foolish woman, he would not let such delicious weakness go without exploitation.

"Do you fear me, Midgardian? Knowing that I could slay you where you stand should I so desire? Yet, still you fell to my _brother's _self-righteous pleas. Pitiful. What lies did he ply you, I wonder. What sweet words did he conjure to bring you here, knees knocking, palms sweating?"

Again, Aura held herself resolute, unwilling to fall victim to his mocking, his spiteful taunting slipping past her without so much a scratch to the already damaged mind. Before she could call out, the fallen prince grabbed her wrists, hopeful for a reaction to his fury, its strength ripping into her. Pupils dilated, she realized his game and she knew then that would not win unless she took his ire and returned it full force.

It was now or never; Coulson's words deafened in their memory.

_God help me,_ she prayed.

Heedless of the pain as Loki fought her for control, she ground her teeth and braced herself against that fear she knew from the beginning. Her mind reeled and her body screamed in protest, but it was then when she let loose her power.

The mortal struck, Loki's grip on her and the rage meaningless as her magic welled up and surged forward.

Agony. Despair. Fire. Hatred. Madness. Promise. Rage. Shame. Torment.

These and so much more flared into blinding brilliance, the simplest taste of each but more than enough. With the flash of his memories drawn towards the Midgardian witch, torn free and gaping, he shoved her against the wall, fingers tight around that delicate neck. Behind him, his chair lay smashed aside, thrown back when he slammed onto his feet. By that force, a nauseating crack resonated and he felt blood trickle down her nape to wash over his hands from the gash splitting the back of her head open upon impact. Blood-lust and terror followed in its wake, a tethered beast fighting its leash. Barely a moment later Thor rushed to her aid, but to both the Asgardians' surprise, she waved him off. At her centre, Loki sensed her own anger fuel her to overcome her fight for consciousness, the concussion spinning her control in nothing. The need to seek reason pressed down on him from somewhere deep, for he who meant to crush the life from her, hands clamped hard on her throat, nails digging in her soft flesh, and the chains of his bonds thumping heavily against her straining chest.

Rough and strained, her voice croaked out, speaking words that shattered his mask as her power ripped deeper into old, oozing wounds.

"You once feared being the monster that parents told their children about at night. More than the lie of your existence, you feared that truth before anything else. But it was still you who courted this chaos in the beginning."

"How dare you?! You know not your place to speak so!"

Fear overcame him - how did she know? What lies and truths had his brother shared? No, it was more than that... Thor could not have known those exact words, known that poisoned speech he had poured out to the All-Father at the depths of Asgard, those impassioned realities brought to light in the weapons vault.

His grip loosened, but he did not release the mortal, keeping her pinned to the wall, unable to retreat.

"Do I? DO I?! You conceited, selfish bastard -" She knew better, knew it even as she fought the blackness. Yet it was his blind condescension that forced her hand and she relinquished the control she mustered to keep others at bay, to keep her clairsentience in check. Left with nothing, she gave him the flash of her nightmare from not hours before, a memory he would rather murder and bury himself. Over its agony, she reminded him again that he was more than his blood and the pain, reminded him of the lie he told himself again and again. "Though Barton may have shared much, it cannot compare to this. _This_ is what the Tesseract showed me. Why she gave me this me, I don't know. Perhaps she pitied you. Perhaps it is something else, but know this: neither Odin, nor Thanos, nor any other may decide for you. Despite those tortures, you've only yourself to blame when you took these paths. Only scars may remain and yet you continually choose to suffer! Why do you- "

Such impudence drove him over the edge, her observations more than he could bear. Caught by her power, Loki tore down his own defence now that he understood that her empathy, the core of that sickening power, connected them. This storm would not be weathered.

"I gave them everything but it was they who cast me into the void! Death should have been welcome, yet here I stand! You know nothing!" He nearly drowned in his own pain wrought after his fall, the memory of Thanos and the tortures given to bind him into submission. These he threw into her mind, seeking to send her back into obscurity. Vivid, bright, far too real to be imagined, his skin crawled at their recollection. Though only a second passes, it proved enough to bring the mortal to tears, tongue bitten back to end her scream. Under his grasp, she weakly thrashed, curling in on herself and shivering. Due tears marred her ruddy cheeks like the blood smearing his mouth. Shaken and overwhelmed, he realized that even he could not withstand them, the memories, he himself beginning to stagger, feeling the lashes strike again as if the whips had been summoned back to life.

The longer he held her, the stronger they became as the woman drew the pain of them up to boil over within herself and within him. Loki knew that this course had to stop before that point of no return passed them. With no control, she could not end their suffering and with little strength of his own, only one solution crossed his mind. To free himself from that anguished flood, he pulled the broken mortal from the wall and threw her across the room, a feat too easily made. Little more than a child's ragged toy in his hand, she crumpled against the wall with muted cry stifled in her heap. Relieved, he took in the scattered remains of his mastery and resolved himself to seethe in silence and entomb the memories once more, ignorant of the gun skittering across the floor as it falls from the agent's clothes, untouched, never reached for.

Dignity and defiance gone, he made no effort to fight the guards who burst in to subdue him. In abject horror, a bitter reality made tangible to cleave through flesh and bone and soul, he fell to his knees as Thor carried the mortal away. Blood-soaked and unconscious at last, her power no longer grated against his, no longer speared and stole. Although freed from her and those loathsome memories, he sagged in his captors' hold and forced himself to not give in to the trembling in his legs.

_Perhaps I should have died... if not in Jötunnheimr, then by the hand of Thanos. But I still live and that is the only truth I hold absolute. I. Yet. Live..._

Such a painful infinitive: to be.

* * *

Coulson's trigger finger itched, the cold metal in his hand unmoving. Just one flex and done. That was all it would take, one little twitch. His arm never faltered, never shifted. The Director would have preferred he stayed behind instead of following on his heels into the snake's pit, but he wheeled himself in without fail. His bead drawn on Asgard's trickster, he never lost sight of his mark.

"Why wasn't he chained to the floor?! There's a reason that ring is there! It's not some goddamn decoration!"

The guardsmen held their ground, but Fury's words tore into them like pistol fire.

"Thor requested that the prisoner only remain his current restraints only."

"And you listened? What the fuck... Listen, Thor maybe on the Avenger ticket, but here, gentlemen, he has no authority."

Too involved, Thor should have never gave himself over to this mission. There was no saving Loki – no_ ifs, ands, _or_ buts_. Even those who lacked conviction were not above reproach. If Odin hadn't tied their hands, the bullet – or arrow, in Barton's case - waiting in every loaded SHIELD weapon would find itself made into justice. But Coulson knew that would never happen. As long as Thor drew breath, he would seek to redeem that deplorable wretch he claimed as a brother and no one could dissuade him.

In exchange for Thor and the goodwill of Asgard, there was no going back now.

That didn't mean Coulson couldn't dream and he smile as he remember the surprised look on the trickster's face when the Destroyer weapon blasted him through steel.

God, that had been worth it: that one moment where he did the most good for Earth's protection.

* * *

Accusation and rage hurled themselves toward Thor when the brute returned to Loki's cell after he had Henley safely seen to the medics. Only once he had been assured that her life was no longer in danger did he leave her side only to meet Loki's wrath head-on.

"What have you told that witch?!" Loki spat at the warrior prince, his face still smeared by blood. His fingers clenched the table as he tried to hide the trembling in his red-washed hands, still painted by both his own and the Midgardian's spilt lifeblood. Chairs and table alike crashed and clattered, chains rattling once again as he tossed them to the ground once Thor unlocked them from his thinner wrists.

Thor may have once be someone special to him, a brother-in-arms and a cherished companion, but now he was no better than Thanos, seeking to control him. Abiding by such low tactics warranted madness and contempt. How dare they sink so low?

"By the Norns, I've said nothing, Loki! I spoke naught ill of you, nor did I revealed anything of our home. Forgive me, brother. Please understand that I did not know she would cause you such distress." Thor paused, unsure. He swallowed hard, choosing his next words with care. "I am sorry, but we are only trying to help you. Cast aside your masks and misconceptions, Loki, for I'll never truly condemn you. You are my brother. Always. You need not suffer alone."

Thor's own fury battered at him in response for the injuries done to the lady Henley, but the black prince braved them and more. Only when Loki answered that the mortal must possess magic to tear such truth from him does the Odinson relent and take his leave, unease clouding his restless mind.

Solitude could not have been more welcome.

Had he had his full strength, that loathsome wench would never have been able to reach so deep, like cancelling like. A sorcerer of renowned prowess himself, he could do that same, but not to such depth as this creature seemed to delve. What had the Tesseract, that masterless bitch, done to have awakened such power in a mere human, magic gone from that race for so long? Moreover, what right did these blackened souls of SHIELD invoke to wield it with little care, for her or their quarry?

But a glimpse of his tortures and both of them had been forced to their knees. It had taken nearly all his strength to push her away, to tame that wild seiðr lacking discipline and true form. When there was once a time he would have taken pleasure in inflicting such relentless pain upon his prey, such was beyond him now. In the aftermath of such scarring, soul-searing woe, even _he_ was not that heartless as he had tried everything within that dwindling vestige of his stolen power to mask it once again.

So _that _was the power of SHIELD's shadow pet, he mused.

Barton had not told him nearly enough. Again, that vague recognition taunted and he sifted among his discarded recollections to find her there, dust-covered and deemed unimportant. He saw it now, nothing more than an echo of the blemished past. That mortal had been there, at the complex, when he first began seeking for their weaknesses. At first, he must have dismissed her, so focused on his other endeavours through his avatar that he ignored the fragile thing skirting the edge of the Tesseract's influence and his perception. How foolish of him to miss such fodder, the lure of the Tesseract once more blinding him even as it had whispered the woman's name to be cast aside without context. Though he had learned more from Barton to pique his interest while in Loki's service, such could not compare to standing before her, wrapped in that power. Nothing could have prepared him for that staggering wave.

In her touch, he had perceived a wild force, malleable and intriguing with its taste of the Tesseract underneath to colour its very existence. Had he taken her prisoner during the incursion into Earth, he wonders how things could have turned out differently. How differently, indeed…

That night, tired of his madness and unrest, sleep evaded him at every turn. Flashes of his torture burned, simmering behind the lids of his eyes each time he closed them. Sieged and defences in his plight, the dam constructed to hold them back had fractured beyond repair.

Amidst the stark-white emptiness, the former king slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, slender fingers yielding on the sleek surface. Nothing more than a pathetic wretch, Loki curled up on himself, his bloodied face cradled on the pillow of his arms as they rested crossed on his knees. Pulling the blanket lifted from his bed over his shoulders, seeking a warmth that he could not seem to find, he fought himself to not to sob, to whimper in misery, to show any weakness. Unforgiving teeth bit into his lip and he met with the familiar, metallic tang upon his tongue again. Remorseless nails dug into his palms as well until they too well up in red, dotting more of the once pure white of his shirt as if to make it as stained as his tattered soul.

In his silent contemplation, he could not fathom why the Tesseract had shown such a lowly being his pain, the scent of her blood on his hands mixing with his own while it dried. Clenching his fists, blood dripping from his ravaged palms, his thoughts turned darker and more sour.

_Yes, I have chosen my path from what was laid before me, the odds ever altered against me. But this mortal, or any other, will not change its course. Thor, you play a sadist's game and your only pawn is a wretched thing destined for ruin. She will be your undoing, Odinson... I'll make certain of it._

**To be continued…**

* * *

**Author's Note:** My apologies for taking so long… I was on a roll there at first and then the plot bunnies kidnapped me as well as my need for constant editing took over, the mindless need to refine and flesh out my scenes as ideas solidified from nothing anywhere and everywhere. The notes alone for this fic hold a word-count of over forty-five thousand, spilling over seventy-five pages. As of now, this part boasts twenty chapters for its whole. Shall I also admit that there are a total of three sequels planned to this work now? *facepalms* I've not shame, but my beta is an enabler and I love her for it.

Any road, thank you for reading because to me, any entertainment I can offer is a worthy cause.

Here's a special shout-out to **molescout** for being such a kind soul! *hugs*


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